Flesh And Metal
by Oskenn
Summary: When Rhys is stretched to the breaking point, he brings Jack back as an attempt to make himself happy agian. But Jack is not an easy person to have in your head... rhack! Contains mature themes.


Rhys couldn't do it any more.

He was going crazy. It had been 8 months. 8 fucking months and he was already at the point of giving up. On _everything_.

For everyone else, adjusting to their new life was easy and they took it all in their stride. Rhys was doing alright at first, rising Atlas out of the dust and employing old Hyperion workers and new Pandorian workers to create the old, steadfast Atlas people used to know. But Voughn, Fiona, Sasha and the rest hadn't gone went he'd gone through, seen what he'd seen, done what he'd done.

Every single damn night he woke up, covered in sweat from the same nightmares. It was either Helios falling and burning with everyone screaming, watching Sasha and Fiona abandon him with the old caravan. He'd hear Jack talking over and over about how it was all his fault and how this was only the first, how he'd turn into him...

Jack.

He was the other kind of nightmare and by far the worst. It was always him screaming, begging for mercy, for his life. And every time Rhys would grin and rip out his cybernetics and watch as Jack made one last desperate attempt to save his life. That one was the worst because it wasn't a nightmare, it was a memory.

Rhys was falling apart, he knew it. He didn't eat, he didn't want to, no matter what Fiona or Vaughn told him. He wasn't starving himself on purpose, he just didn't feel like eating. _Ever_. He was just a walking skeleton now, his usually skinny frame dramatised by his pale skin stretched taught over brittle bones. His eyes were dark and sunken, always accompanied by the black bags, a sign of his refusal to sleep because of the reoccurring nightmares.

He was moody and grumpy, he didn't want to be in anyone's company, he just wanted to he left alone. But then again he hated being alone, with nothing but his own mind to talk to. He didn't know what he wanted anymore, he just didn't _care_. Everything was a struggle these days, just getting out of bed felt like a monumental task. He just felt empty, he didn't find enjoyment in the things he used to, he couldn't laugh with his friends anymore.

He hated everything and everyone, but most of all he hated himself.

The first time he tried it was in its office, stupidly. He had to make do with electrical wire, rope had no place in Atlas. He failed to snap his neck on the way down, so he just hung there, slowly suffocating. It brought back painful memories of Jack trying to strangle him with his own arm. Ironic really, this truly was how he was going to go out.

Unfortunately some prick in the weapons department stormed in, angry that his knocks were being ignored. Thinking back to it, the guy didn't seem to pleased to find his boss attempting to hang himself in his office. He remembered a lot of screaming, he remembered trying to stand up (he could never remember how he got on the floor) and the med team pushing him back down. He remembered panting, gasping for air as employees all stared at him as he was wheeled out. But most of all he remembered seeing his friends faces when he woke up. How angry they were. How _disappointed_ they were.

He was cleverer the next time and tried it at home. He thought if he didn't turn up for work ever again, everyone would just move on and let him rot. He thought about using a gun but it was too quick, too nice. He didn't deserve that. So he used a knife instead. Unfortunately he had some sort of chip implanted in him without being aware of it, that recorded his vitals and warned his friends when they got too low. It was Fiona that found him that time. It was funny, he could have sworn she was off vault hunting at that point. It was the same again but this time with a lot more red. The med team, the screaming, the looks of disappointment...

So now he had to make routine calls to Vaughn, at specific times, everyday. No matter what he was doing. It was either that or have Vaughn move in with him, and he _defiantly_ didn't want that. Once he couldn't be arsed to call him and Vaughn rushed round with a whole med team to see if he was ok. Which he was. According to Vaughn though, lying curled up on the floor, not reacting to anything or anyone wasn't in his definition of 'ok'.

So that brings Rhys to where he was now, a ball of self - hatred and depression. He couldn't walk through a hallway without a group of employees staring and whispering when he'd next try to off himself. He hated it. Everyday he hated things more and more, he tried to push his friends away before they got hurt, but they persisted. Making random visits to his office. Trying to catch his eye in the hallways. Giving him lots of "we love you"s and "you're a good person"s and his favourite "we're always here for you"s. But they were never there for him.

" _Where were you when I killed Jack then?!"_

" _God Rhys you're still not over him? He was a psychopath, a monster, you did the right thing"_

" _He was begging me for his life! How does that make me the good guy?!"_

" _Why does it even matter Rhys? It was ages ago"_

" _8 months is not ages ago Fiona, you don't know what it's like. I shared my head with him, I knew him! It's not like he was talking to me in a screen, we were part of each other!"_

 _"... Rhys please you need to get hel-"_

 _"I DON'T DESERVE HELP!"_

He sat crossed legged on his bed, in the dim light of his bedroom, holding his old ECHOeye in his hand. He never got rid of it. He couldn't have.

He missed Jack so much. He missed his company, his banter, his advice. He craved for his companionship again. God he missed him so _much_.

And he felt so guilty. Jack had _begged_ him. Begged! Handsome Jack _never_ begged and Rhys killed him in cold blood. Well he was going to make up for it, he was going to bring him back.

So he sat there, with a knife ready to pry his golden ECHOeye out, just like he had done before. He painfully pried the glass off his blind eye and yanked the wiring out. He began to fit the old blue one in, fingers wet with blood. He didn't care what damage he'd do to his eye, he'd never been able to see out of it since-

Snap.

Pop.

The familiar blue washed over his left vision and then flickered to normal. He sat there on his bed patiently waiting...hoping...

Nothing happened.

There's was no flash of blue, no arrogant drawl, god there wasn't even any _threats_.

"Jack?" Rhys called out hopefully, but there's was no reply.

He sat there like that on his bed for the remainder of the night.


End file.
